Take These Broken Wings and Learn to Fly
by iwillalwaysbeyourlight
Summary: Santana never said no, except this time she had but it hadn't mattered. Something unspeakable happens to Santana at a party just before junior year and instead of turning to her friends for help, she pushes them away. Santana/Brittany
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story involves a rape (non graphic). Please be aware of this before you continue reading. All my thanks go out to my betas who've helped me so much through this process. This is only part 1 of the fic Reviews are very much appreciated.**

"_Just do what I do. Never say no."_ Her words to Rachel echo in her mind as she stands in the shower, the water so hot that it is turning her skin an angry red. She is frantically scrubbing herself down with her loofa in an attempt to remove any trace of _him_ from her body. She concentrates extra hard on the area below her belly button where he'd pressed wet, sloppy kisses as she struggled against him. She watches the bubbles float down the drain as the water washes them from her body and tries desperately to imagine him being washed away as well. Except there's a dull ache between her legs and bruises on her thighs and on her wrists where he'd held her that make it impossible to forget. She can still smell him, still taste him, and it's making her so nauseous she begins to dry heave. She never said no, except this time she had but it hadn't mattered.

"_Come on, Lopez," he said, pulling her into an empty bedroom upstairs, away from the noise of the party._

"_You must be really drunk, Karofsky, if you think I'm going to do anything with you." She tried to pull away from him, a feeling of panic rising from deep within her when his grasp on her arm tightened. "You're hurting me, you asshole." Santana growled, twisting her wrist awkwardly as she tried to free it from his grip._

"_You're kind of a bitch," he replied, pushing her down onto the bed as she struggled to get away. "I like it."_

"_Stop it," she hissed forcefully. "I said no."_

"_I know your rep. Guys talk," he lay down on top of her, pinning her to the bed. Santana shuddered as he snaked his hand up her top. "You never say no."_

"_Get your hands off of me or I'll fucking kill you," she threatened, squirming desperately underneath him. His massive weight was too much for her small frame and she was rendered effectively paralyzed._

"_I'd like to see you try," Karofsky whispered into her ear, the smell of alcohol present on his breath as his fingers tangled roughly in her hair. "No use in screaming," he snarled, pressing a finger to her lips when she opened her mouth to yell. "The music downstairs is too loud; no one will ever hear you." _

_She screamed anyway, kicking her legs and trying to free her arms, but he was so damn heavy. Fighting back only seemed to turn him on more and he smirked maliciously as he slid his hand up her thigh and ripped off her underwear. The look in his eyes was so violent she feared for her life and all she could do was shut her eyes and pretend that she was somewhere else, that this wasn't happening to her. _

"_There," he breathed cockily, climbing off of her once he was done, "you liked that, didn't you?"_

"_Fuck off," she whispered, pulling the sheet over her body and wiping the tears from her cheeks._

"_Don't bother telling anyone about this," he said as he stumbled drunkenly back into his pants. "They'll never believe the easy slut." Santana squeezed her eyes shut as he spat out the last word because it was true and she wondered if being a slut somehow made her responsible for what he'd done to her._

She doesn't say anything, doesn't tell anyone. The prospect of going to the police and reporting it and then letting them do a rape kit at the hospital is just too overwhelming. She knows she's not strong enough to do it alone, but she's too ashamed to admit what happened to her to anyone else, even Brittany. Especially Brittany. There is no way her friend could possibly understand. So instead she goes home and attempts to wash all evidence of Dave Karofsky and everything he'd done to her right down the drain. She's good at forgetting, and she's even better at pretending. No one ever has to know.

* * *

It is two days later and she's laying beside Brittany in bed, tangled safely in her arms as the blonde runs her fingers soothingly through her dark locks. "What's wrong, San?" Brittany asks so quietly Santana almost doesn't hear her. They're watching a movie together, and the fact that Santana hasn't so much as touched the bowl of popcorn is not lost on her friend for a second. She knows Brittany's a lot smarter than people give her credit for, but damn her for being so _perceptive_. She's studying her face intently, her large blue eyes etched in concern. Santana _hates_ it.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" she asks, looking up only long enough to meet her eyes for a second.

Brittany shrugs casually, "Because I know you."

Her words sting because Santana knows it's true and it terrifies her. They've been best friends since they were four years old. From skinned knees to broken hearts, Brittany had been through it all with her. She can read her like an open book; lying to her feels impossible and fundamentally wrong.

"I'm okay," Santana whispers, forcing a smile before burrowing her head deep into Brittany's neck so that she doesn't have to look at her. "I'm just really tired." It's not a lie, not really - she's exhausted. It takes her forever to fall asleep at night because she can't force her mind to turn off and every time she closes her eyes, she only sees _him_. Once she finally manages to fall asleep, it is fitful and plagued with nightmares that are even worse than her reality.

Brittany seems satisfied by the half-truth and Santana feels the blonde's chin bump against the top of her head in a nod. "If you fall asleep now, you'll never find out if Amy Adams gets the guy." She moves her hand from Santana's hair and brings it to rest on her abdomen. "Do I need to do something entertaining so you'll stay awake?" she asks suggestively as her fingers begin to toy with the elastic of Santana's underwear.

Every muscle in Santana's body tenses reflexively, and she closes her eyes and reminds herself that it's Brittany, _her_ Brittany, who smells faintly of cherries and vanilla and would never do anything to hurt her. But before she even realizes what she's doing, she's grabbing Brittany's hand and pushing it away. "Not tonight," she says with much more force than she intends.

"Okay," Brittany says, sitting straight up in bed and staring at Santana tearfully. "Now I know something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just not in the mood tonight. Let's just finish the damn movie." Santana settles back down into the pillow and tries to focus on the TV, but Brittany is still staring at her expectantly. "I've got my period, okay?" It's a total lie and Santana despises having to lie to the one person she's _always_ honest with, but it slips from her lips so much more easily than the truth.

"God, S," Brittany breathes, the look on her face a mixture of relief, amusement, and sympathy. "Why didn't you just say so? No wonder you're so tired and crabby."

"I can for you though, if you want…." Santana offers out of sheer relief that Brittany bought her blatant lie.

"Nah," Brittany snuggles in beside her and reaches her hand over to massage non-existent cramps from Santana's belly. "Cuddling is nice, too."

Santana nods and closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of Brittany's silky hair and concentrating hard on how soft her fingertips feel as they dance against her skin. Cuddling _is _nice because it's with Brittany, and it's gentle and familiar and everything that he was not.

* * *

Three weeks later she is forced out of the tiny cocoon of isolation she'd created for herself in her room for the remainder of summer vacation. "Good morning, Santana," Rachel chirps cheerfully from her locker. "How was your summer?"

She groans quietly under her breath as the number of people she has to lie to is increased by one. "Fan-FREAKING-tastic," she replies sarcastically, hoping the girl won't dare to continue the conversation.

But Rachel is oblivious to the "stay away!" signals Santana tries to send out and continues chattering relentlessly about her _fabulous_ summer. It's torture and part of Santana misses the days when Cheerios and Rachel Berry were never seen in the same room together.

"Did you do anything fun?" _"Oh, yeah, Berry, I got raped. That was a FUCKING BALL," _she wants to say, but instead tells her, "Just the usual - hung out at the pool and went to cheer camp."

"Well, I was fortunate enough to go to New York with my dads. We saw so many amazing shows! There's one I think you'd enjoy called _American Idiot_, and its story is set entirely to Green Day's music. I'm thinking of asking Mr. Schuester if we can add a number from it to some of our set lists…"

It takes Rachel that long to notice that Santana's staring off blankly into the distance, and she begins obnoxiously waving her hand in front of her face. "Are you alright? You're not sick, are you? We can't have anyone infecting the entire Glee Club the first day back at school."

"I'm fine," Santana hisses through gritted teeth because she's already so damn tired of that question and it's only second period. "Just thinking about what a shame it is you didn't decide to move to Israel."

She watches Rachel's expression fall and is flooded with a mixture of pleasure and nauseating guilt. "Oh," Rachel whispers, moving quickly to gather the rest of her things from her locker. "Well, I trust I'll see you at rehearsal after school."

"That was mean," Brittany states disapprovingly from beside her. "She was just being friendly."

She drops her pinky and loops it with Brittany's before retorting, "I don't need any more friends."

* * *

Despite Santana's claim that she doesn't need any more friends (she _doesn't), _she ends up falling back into a pretty comfortable friendship with Quinn their first week back at school. After all, they've been friends ever since first grade when Santana shoved some bully down on the playground for breaking Quinn's favorite pink glitter crayon and making her cry. Santana's still sort of pissed about the whole Puck thing, but throwing all those years away because of a stupid boy seems pointless. Besides, Quinn pushed a freaking _person_ out of her body and Santana thinks that is punishment enough for sleeping with Puck.

So they start hanging out together again and as much as Santana hates to admit it, it's nice. She'd missed Quinn without even realizing it.

"Hey," Quinn says, turning to Santana as they walk towards the choir room Friday after school, "want to see a new picture of Beth?"

No, she doesn't, not if she is being honest. Santana's not really a big fan of babies. They're cute and all, but they're also messy and noisy and demanding as hell. She can't exactly tell Quinn that though. "Sure."

"Okay," Quinn smiles, stopping in front of her locker and quickly entering the combination. "Shelby says she's doing really well," she tells her, pulling a picture of Beth from her locker, her face absolutely glowing as she shows off the baby. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Quinn's _so_ incredibly proud of the baby and it immediately strikes Santana how sad it is that she will spend the rest of her life loving someone she can never have.

"She looks just like you," Santana says, studying the picture briefly before handing it back to her. "Lucky for her because _that_ head on a baby…" she adds with a smirk.

"Oh," Quinn sighs with a disapproving roll of her eyes, "might I remind you that you slept with Puck, too."

"I know. It was poor judgment on my part." Santana leans back against the lockers and watches as Quinn carefully tapes the picture of Beth back up. She's trying to focus on what Quinn's saying (something about the baby rolling over) when she sees Karofsky walking down the hall towards them. She wants to run, wants to hide, but she is overcome with paralyzing fear.

Bumping into Karofsky is inevitable because McKinley High is a small school, but knowing it's bound to happen doesn't make it any easier when she finally sees him.

"S?" Quinn asks, her face concerned as she nudges Santana's shoulder gently. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She can feel Quinn looking at her, searching for eye contact that she is not willing or able to make, so she cuts her eyes down to the floor. "I'm alright," she says, swallowing the lump in her throat and inching closer to her friend's body for protection.

"Let's go then, or we'll be late and Rachel will throw another one of her famous diva hissy fits." Quinn says, her voice laced with annoyance at the mere thought of Rachel storming out of yet another practice. She starts to walk in the direction that Karofsky is coming from, but Santana grabs her arm and pulls her the other way.

"I want to walk this way instead," Santana insists firmly.

Quinn sighs in frustration, "Why? It takes twice as long."

"I, uh, want to stop by the restroom first." Santana explains, tugging at her friend's arm urgently because Karofsky is fast approaching.

"Fine," Quinn agrees, furrowing her brow and following Santana's lead. "I think you need to talk to your doctor about upping your anxiety meds because you have been a total wreck lately," she says, reminding Santana that there had been a time not long ago that Quinn had known almost as much about her as Brittany did. Like the fact that Santana's family doctor put her on anti-anxiety medication halfway through freshman year because she, as the doctor put it, internalizes everything- or some crap like that. Whatever, the pills work for her and upping the dose doesn't sound like such a bad idea given her current emotional state.

Santana's about to offer some stupid excuse for her behavior when she's jolted as Dave Karofsky slams his shoulder into her body. "Watch where you're going, bitch!" He yells behind him as he takes off down the hall.

"You watch where you're going, you Neanderthal puckhead!" Quinn shouts after him in Santana's defense. "What a jerk," she declares once Karofsky's gone. "Someone really needs to put him in his place."

"NO!" Santana yells without even meaning to. "Listen, Q, you have to promise me you'll stay away from him," she adds, lowering her voice and taking both of Quinn's hands in her own so that she knows she's serious.

There is such a sense of urgency and panic in Santana's voice that Quinn agrees immediately, no questions asked. "God, okay, I promise."

"Good," she says, linking her arm through Quinn's before taking off down the hall because she is so shaken she's not entirely sure she can walk on her own.

* * *

The days are hard, but the nights are almost impossible. During the day her life is full of distractions like school and glee and cheerleading and pretending like everything is okay. During the night she is stripped bare to nothing but herself and her thoughts and darkness and she can't decide which of the three is more fucking terrifying. Growing up, she'd had a love affair with the dark. She was one of the few kids in her neighborhood that didn't run inside as soon as the streetlights came on. _"Everything's the same as it was ten minutes ago when the sun was up," _she had reasoned with them, _"it's just you can't see it now." _

She'd loved the mystery that darkness brought, the thrill and exhilaration that came with not being able to see what was coming. The dark acted as a blanket of invisibility for her; it made her feel invincible because in the dark no one could see her either. Now she knows better, knows that not being able to see what's coming is dangerous, that the dark is when the real monsters come out and no one can hear you scream. She hates him for taking that love away from her, for making the dark something to be afraid of.

Santana's standing at her bedroom window, checking and double checking that it's locked even though she hasn't opened it in weeks, when she feels Brittany come up behind her. Brittany, thank God for Brittany and their traditional weekend sleepovers because at least she's not alone. "Going somewhere?" She asks jokingly as she brings her chin to rest on Santana's shoulder.

"No," Santana replies with a small laugh. "I was just making sure the window is locked since my dad is out of town."

"Mmm," Brittany hums, "but your bedroom is on the second floor."

Santana shrugs, "People have ladders you know. You lock your window, right?"

"I don't know," Brittany states, reaching up and twirling a strand of Santana's hair around her finger, clearly bored with the conversation. "I guess I do when I remember to."

"Britt," Santana tries to turn her head to look at her, but the blonde's chin is still pressed firmly against her shoulder. "You have to keep your window locked. Just don't open it and then you won't have to remember to lock it."

"But sometimes I like to hear the birds sing."

"Okay," Santana sighs, moving towards her desk where she grabs an obnoxiously pink sticky-note and quickly writes in bold, black print **REMEMBER TO LOCK YOUR WINDOW! XOXO - S **"There," she says, pressing the note to the outside of Brittany's duffle bag, "tape this on your bathroom mirror with all your other notes and then you'll see it at night when you brush your teeth."

"Thanks, San. I'll stick it right next to the one that says 'brush your teeth'." Brittany teases lightly before planting a quick kiss on her cheek. The notes are sort of their little joke. Her bathroom mirror is littered with post-it reminders from Santana. Reminders ranging from 'feed your goldfish' to 'charge your phone'. She doesn't even really need most of them (although the phone one does come in handy sometimes). They serve as nothing more than a reminder just how much Santana cares about her. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she adds, her tone more serious.

_You'd be just fine, _Santana thinks to herself, _I'm the one who'd be lost without you. _"Without me? Well, for one you'd probably never have a fully charged phone," she jokes before taking Brittany's hand in her own and squeezing it affectionately to convey the emotions she's feeling.

Brittany smiles so widely it makes her nose crinkle. "I guess it's a good thing I have you in my life then."

"Definitely," she says, bringing her head to rest on Brittany's shoulder. "Hey, I'm sort of tired, are you ready for bed?"

"Yeah, sure," Brittany replies with an exaggerated yawn that clues Santana in to the fact that she's probably not actually tired at all. Still, she follows Santana's lead, happily climbing into the side of the bed that has been hers for as long as they've been having sleepovers.

"Britt?" Santana asks, curling up into the taller girl's side.

"Yeah?" she replies, reaching up and around Santana's body. Her hand comes to rest on Santana's bicep where she immediately begins to trace nonsensical shapes with her fingertip.

"I'm really glad you're here tonight."

"Silly," Brittany laughs, "you're always glad I'm here. You love me."

Santana smiles against Brittany's neck. "I do," she agrees before closing her eyes and allowing the familiar scent of Brittany's shampoo on her still damp hair to begin to lull her to sleep.

"I love you too," she whispers, tracing the shape of a lopsided heart on Santana's arm.

It feels like she's only been asleep for a few seconds when Santana awakens in the pitch black darkness of her room. She hears someone breathing, but it's not the light and slow breaths that Brittany takes when she sleeps. It's deep and heavy and fast.

"Brittany?" She calls out, groping frantically in the dark for the lamp on her nightstand.

"Guess again, bitch," Karofsky's voice growls in the darkness. Before she can move, he's on top of her, his weight crushing her as he grabs the back of her knee, pushing his hand up her thigh. "Ready for round two?"

"Get off of me, you bastard," she screams, and when he brings a hand to her mouth to shut her up, she bites him hard. "Help me," Santana pleads, hot, salty tears stinging her cheeks as she feels him pressing against her. All she can hear is her pulse pounding in her ears and Karofsky's erratic panting, but then a voice breaks through the quiet.

"Santana, Santana, San!" Someone is shaking her shoulder but she can't see because it's so goddamn dark. "Wake up!"

She pulls her eyes open, expecting to see him but instead she finds Brittany's terrified face hovering above hers. "God," she gasps, reaching up desperately and wrapping her arms around Brittany's neck, like a drowning person reaching for a life preserver floating on the surface of the water. Her chest heaves and her breaths come in such rapid succession that she actually starts to get dizzy.

"Shhhhh," Brittany murmurs against her ear, cradling Santana close to her body and rocking back and forth gently. "It was just a bad dream. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay."

"I thought I locked the window," Santana mumbles practically incoherently into Brittany's shoulder, her voice muffled by tears and sleep and the fabric of her friend's shirt. "I thought I locked it."

"You did," Brittany reassures her, reaching up to stroke her hair.

"Then how did he get in?" Santana manages to choke out in between sobs.

"How did who get in?" Brittany asks in confusion. "No one else is here; it's just you and me."

"No one else is here," Santana repeats as the fog of sleep begins to lift from her brain and she picks up her head to look into the area of her room behind Brittany and finds nothing but emptiness. "Oh, thank God," she breathes before pressing her face back into the softness of Brittany's shirt.

"Are you okay now?" Brittany asks, her voice shaking.

"Yeah," she whispers, "I'm really sorry I scared you."

Brittany swallows hard. "It's alright. I'm just glad you're awake now," she says before lying back down without even bothering to break their embrace.

Santana sniffles, "Yeah, me too."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Brittany pries gently, drawing back a little from Santana so that she can look at her.

"There's nothing to talk about," Santana answers, quickly closing the gap between them by nuzzling her head into the crook of Brittany's neck. "It was just a really horrible dream."

Brittany's quiet for so long that Santana thinks that maybe she's drifted off back to sleep, but then she feels Brittany's fingertips begin to rub at the base of her neck and she hears her whisper. "Who were you so afraid of, San?"

Santana doesn't answer, instead allowing the silence to speak for her and convince Brittany that she's already gone back to sleep.

* * *

At first, it's easy enough to ignore the blaring red circle on her calendar marking what should have been but wasn't. She's never been terribly regular thanks to grueling Cheerios practices and a diet that alternates between consuming nothing but Coach Sylvester's terrible concoction and binging on every carbohydrate she can find. She's lulled into a false sense of security by incredibly sore breasts and an occasional twinge low in her belly. She easily convinces herself that she's just late because she's stressed as hell and exhausted. But then the crippling nausea sets in and she's so incredibly tired that she resorts to curling up on chairs during glee practice and resting her head in Brittany's lap. One month turns into two and suddenly the blaring red circles on her calendar are all she can think about.

"Shit," she mumbles early one morning, untangling herself from Brittany's tight embrace before running to the bathroom. She barely gets the toilet lid up before she starts to gag violently, mentally adding chicken salad to the list of things she no longer eats.

"San?" Brittany's voice is groggy and confused, but she's behind her almost immediately, pulling back her hair and tracing light, soothing circles on her back.

"Ugh," Santana groans, pressing her body to the cool tile floor once she's done. "Must be that virus that's going around." Brittany swallows hard and nods in agreement, but even through her bleary eyes Santana can tell she's not entirely convinced so she adds, "Fuckin' Puck."

This elicits a slight smile from Brittany and she reaches over to push a sweaty strand of hair off of Santana's forehead. "Only bad things come from making out with Puck."

She catches Brittany's hand in her own. "I hope I don't get you sick," Santana says, even though she knows her nausea is not contagious.

Brittany shrugs and lies down beside her on the floor, absently running her hand up and down Santana's back. "It doesn't matter." It comes out so earnestly that a lump rises in Santana's throat and, for a minute, she thinks that maybe lying to Brittany is more painful than telling her the truth.

It takes another week of exhaustion, vomiting, sore breasts and the lovely added bonus of having to pee every five minutes before Santana finally works up the nerve to take a test. She locks herself in her bathroom and digs to the very back of the cabinet where she knows there's still one of Quinn's unused tests left over from the year before. The blonde had given up on praying for a negative result after her fifth positive and left the final test unused.

"Fuck," she curses, staring at the glaringly obvious positive test. Suddenly, forgetting doesn't seem so easy.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana calls Planned Parenthood the next day to schedule an abortion because she can't have _any_ baby, much less _this _baby.

"Do you know how far along you are?" The lady on the other end of the line asks.

She's spread out on her bed, her palm resting on her exposed abdomen. "I think around ten weeks. Is it too late to have one?"

"No, not at all," she answers and Santana isn't completely sure that she's relieved by the news. "I just need to get some more information from you and we can get you all set up, okay?"

"Okay," Santana says, trying desperately to ignore the deep ache that has settled in her chest.

"How old are you?"

_Too young to have a baby, _she thinks before answering, "Almost seventeen."

The woman lets out an audible sigh, "Oh, you know you'll need a parent or guardian's consent beforehand, right?"

"No… I… I didn't know that," she finally manages, tears clogging her throat. Her mother is a strict Catholic who would sooner let her daughter die during a back alley abortion than consent to a medical one. She said as much when Santana had told her Quinn was pregnant and was visibly relieved when she'd learned that Quinn couldn't so much as say the word abortion, much less go through with one.

"_A baby is a gift," her mother said as she fussed about the kitchen, scrubbing the counter furiously, "from God."_

"_I know that, Mama!" Santana replied with a slight roll of her eyes. Of course she knew that - it was why she had three younger sisters, a younger brother, and parents who were too busy to show up to their eldest daughter's cheerleading competitions._

"_It's a life! If one of you girls ever got pregnant and even thought of having an abo…"_

_Santana huffed in frustration. She'd heard it all before in church; life begins at conception which makes abortion as much of a sin as murder. "Mama, I'm not pregnant so you can quit lecturing me. Besides, Quinn is keeping the baby. She'd never have an abortion." _

"_Good," her mother smiled, "Quinn's doing the right thing. She should be very proud of herself." _

_The next time Mrs. Lopez had seen Quinn, she'd wrapped her tightly in her arms, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and told her just that._

But Quinn's situation had been _so _different. Her baby was a product of wine coolers, teenage passion, a complete lack of birth control, and - despite both Puck and Quinn's vehement denial - love. The baby inside her was a product of the exact opposite. Besides, even if her mother would consent to the abortion, asking her to do so would require that Santana tell her at least some version of the truth and that was something she just couldn't bring herself to do.

"Do I just need to get a form signed or something?" Santana continues. Forging her mother's signature was easy enough; she'd done it before and she could do it again.

"No, your parent or guardian will have to come with you to the mandatory pre-abortion appointment and give consent then." Santana is silent, so the lady continues, "If that's not an option for you, you can apply for judicial bypass which will allow you to have an abortion without parental consent if a judge deems you mature enough. It's a bit of a process and it'll take a lot of work on your part. If that's what you want, you'll have to get started right away because it can take some time and judicial bypass is much harder to obtain once you enter your second trimester. Has your pregnancy been confirmed by a doctor yet?"

"I only took a home test. Believe me, I'm pregnant." She hasn't said the words out loud yet and she's taken aback by the way they sound when she says them. She's _pregnant _even though she doesn't really _feel_ any different than she did yesterday. The only thing lying between the Santana she was then and the Santana she is now is the stupid pink plus sign that appeared on the stick she had peed on.

"I know, it's just the first step in the bypass. Why don't I make an appointment for you and you can come in and have the test done and then you can talk with one of our counselors about the bypass process. Does Friday at four work for you?"

"Friday's fine," she replies. It'll have to fit in between glee club and the football game, but she'll make it work.

"Alright then, we'll see you Friday." The lady says it like it is business as usual and it takes Santana a minute to realize that for her, it is.

"Thank you," she says before hanging up.

* * *

Later that night Santana is lying in bed with her laptop propped on her stomach, researching Ohio's teen abortion laws and judicial bypass when she stumbles upon a week by week pregnancy calendar and, out of curiosity, clicks on week ten. She reads that the baby's not even two inches long and weights less than four paperclips and wonders how something so incredibly tiny is capable of turning her entire world upside down.

Her mother's words to her play over and over again in her head as she skims the page - "_a baby is a gift."_ She continues reading and the words on the screen start to blur as big, unexpected tears well in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. She has come completely unraveled by the fact that the baby has a heartbeat. She _knew _it had a heartbeat; she'd known since she was a little girl sitting in church that the heartbeat started very early in pregnancy, but back then it hadn't mattered, hadn't meant anything. _I'd never do that, I could never kill my baby_, a 13-year-old Santana had thought to herself. It had all seemed so cut and dry then, so black and white, so easy. It had seemed easy because there were no feelings involved then, it wasn't happening to her.

But four years later it _is _happening to her and she is sitting in bed Googling abortion laws and pregnancy calendars and feeling _everything, _and she knows it is the most difficult decision she'll ever have to make.

"I can't do this," Santana finally whispers to herself, fresh hot tears running down her cheeks. Not only because the Church tells her it's wrong, but because her heart tells her it is as well. She feels sort of like a hypocrite for falling back on her religion. It's not like she's in the running for Catholic of the year or anything. She has been testing the boundaries, questioning her faith and what is right and wrong ever since she was eight and took her First Holy Communion. She spends most of her time doing the exact opposite of what the Church dictates- she curses, she had premarital sex, and she's doing…well, whatever it is she's doing with Brittany for Christ's sake. But none of those actions ever hurt anyone except maybe Santana herself. Suddenly, the abortion she'd been convinced just hours earlier that she _had_ to have seems like the one thing in the world she just can't make herself go through with.

The next morning, she calls Planned Parenthood and changes her appointment to a prenatal visit.

"Are you sure?" The receptionist asks skeptically.

"I'm positive," she answers, even though she's not really sure of anything at all.

* * *

Even as she's pulling into the parking lot of Planned Parenthood that Friday afternoon, a large part of her is still convinced that she's not really pregnant. That she'll go in and pee in a cup and they'll tell her she's crazy and wasting their time, and then she'll be able to go back to having only one terrible secret in her life.

It doesn't happen like that though and before she has time to process what's going on, she's got her feet up in stirrups and she's watching in shock as an ultrasound tech points out the baby's heartbeat on the screen.

"There you go," the tech says, pointing to the tiny figure on the monitor. "You can see baby's head right here," she indicates something on the screen that, to Santana, only vaguely resembles a head.

"Is it okay?" Santana asks slightly panicked because, holy shit, it looks like an alien.

The woman smiles and nods, "Everything looks good. The baby has a nice, strong heartbeat and is measuring exactly as it should be."

"That's good," Santana breathes, relieved. She thought seeing it, being forced to face the tangible results of that horrible night, would be unbearable. Really though, it's just the most surreal experience of her life, _seeing_ this little thing that's growing inside of her.

"You'll need to make an appointment with an OB. I can get you a list of doctors if you want."

Santana shakes her head, "It's okay, I have a gynecologist." The doctor was in the next town over and Santana had been seeing her ever since she started having sex because she was promiscuous, not stupid.

She walks out of the office two hours later with just as many secrets as she walked in with, along with a due date (May 22nd), prenatal vitamins, and a grainy black and white picture of the inside of her uterus that she didn't particularly want.

She pulls up to McKinley 15 minutes late for the game, hastily shoving the picture and vitamins into her glove compartment before making a mad dash for the football field.

"Hey," Santana whispers breathlessly as she steps into her place in line next to Brittany, praying that Coach Sylvester will be too busy taunting Coach Tanaka about his doughy gut to notice her tardiness.

No such luck. "LOPEZ!" Sue Sylvester barks. "You're late!"

"You're telling me." She mumbles under her breath before saying, "Sorry, Coach."

"Laps, now!" She yells into the megaphone. "And you better make sure you're done with them in time to be in the line-up to cheer these imbeciles on as they attempt to break their way through a paper sign. You know how difficult it is for them."

Santana sighs and tries her best not to roll her eyes because she's pretty sure Sue Sylvester has eyes in the back of her head. She drops her duffle bag and pom-poms at her feet and starts to take off around the track, but Brittany catches her arm.

"Where were you?" She asks, tugging Santana's body to a halt. "You've always been the first one at our games, even before you made head cheerleader."

"Sorry, Britt," Santana answers, wriggling her arm free from the blonde's light grasp, "you heard Coach, I have to finish my laps." She takes off quickly but makes it no more than 20 feet before she feels someone run up beside her. It's Brittany, and she's matching Santana stride for stride. "Brittany, what the hell are you doing? You're supposed to be warming up with everyone else. You're going to get in trouble!"

Brittany looks directly at her and Santana knows the last thing she's worried about is getting in trouble with Sue Sylvester. "I don't want to warm up with everyone else. I want you to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on," she insists, picking up her pace a bit. It doesn't matter though because Brittany is all legs and _damn_ is she fast.

"Stop trying to run away from me," Brittany demands loudly as she takes Santana's hand in her own and pulls her off the track to a corner beside the opposing team's bleachers. It is the closest Brittany's ever come to yelling and it catches Santana completely off guard.

Santana sighs tiredly, reaching up to massage the ache that's quickly building beneath her temples, "I'm not." _I'm trying to run away from everyone else,_ she thinks but doesn't say.

Brittany rolls her eyes, unconvinced. "Tell me where you were then."

_At the doctor getting an ultrasound to check on the baby that I don't want but can't get rid of and certainly can't tell you about. _"Puck and I were fooling around behind the bleachers. You know it helps him loosen up before a big game," she finally decides. It definitely would not have been the first time Noah Puckerman had made her tardy.

"No, you weren't," Brittany answers quickly. "Puck's been on the field the whole time. I know because he smacked my butt on his way out."

"You know me," Santana says with an easy shrug, "I had to run to the locker room afterwards to make sure my hair and make-up were perfect."

Brittany's staring at her, looking confused and hurt because the fact that Santana is lying is painfully obvious. "Are you breaking up with me or something?" she finally asks, her voice breaking.

"What?" Santana tries to make sense of what Brittany's saying. Their relationship had never been defined like that before. They'd never put a label on what they were, they just _were_. You don't just break up with your best friend, the one person in the entire world who understands you. "God, no, how could you even think that?"

"Because you're acting really weird," Brittany whispers, blinking hard and causing a few big, round tears to spill onto her cheeks. Her lip quivers as she tries to hold back the flood of tears threatening to fall and it's the most pitiful thing Santana has ever seen. "You never tell me anything anymore."

"Listen to me," Santana says, cupping Brittany's face in her hands and using her thumbs to brush the tears from her cheeks. "You're my best friend and I love you _always_, no matter what happens. Don't ever forget that." She pulls Brittany in and presses a soft kiss to her lips, her own heart breaking because although Brittany is absolutely the last person in the world she wants to hurt, she knows that hurting her will be inevitable.

Brittany draws in a deep, shuttering breath before nodding and resting her forehead against Santana's, "I love you too."

"Come on," Santana says, linking her pinky with Brittany's, "finish my laps with me before Coach Sylvester kills us both." She starts to take off again, but her friend hesitates. "What is it?" she asks, looking at her.

Brittany's studying her carefully. "You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?"

Santana nods, plastering a tight smile to her face. "Absolutely," she answers before squeezing Brittany's pinky with her own, all the while wishing Brittany didn't care about her so damn much so she could stop lying to her. "Pinky promise," she adds because she knows Brittany still places great amounts of faith in the childhood ritual.

"Okay," Brittany agrees skeptically but Santana can tell from her voice she's still trying to convince herself that everything is, indeed, alright.

* * *

She starts measuring her life in weeks (_its _weeks_)_ after that doctor's appointment. Eleven weeks, 12 weeks, 13 weeks- e-mails from the pregnancy website she registered at arrive in her mailbox and tell her what's going on in her body and with the baby. It's…growing, or at least the e-mails say it is, but you can't tell by looking at her. She's terrified she's just going to wake up one morning all fat and huge like Quinn.

Santana feels a deep tug of guilt when the 13-week e-mail arrives, happily welcoming her to the second trimester and cheerily congratulating her for making it through the most dangerous period of pregnancy when it comes to miscarriages and her heart sinks. She'd spent the previous three weeks praying for just that and, with the e-mail, feels the last bit of hope she had that God would somehow change His mind slip away. _"It's safe to tell your family now!" _the e-mail announces and Santana rolls her eyes. It's definitely not safe to tell her family anything. She's sure it's joyous news for most pregnant women, but most pregnant women don't get on their knees and pray for a miscarriage.

She knows firsthand it's truly a terrible and traumatic occurrence. When she was 11 years old she was home alone with her mother when she suffered one and all she could do was watch helplessly as her mom laid on the couch while she cramped and bled and prayed that God would save her baby. Santana brought her mother a heating pad, curled up next to her on the couch, and cried right along with her. She vividly remembers reaching up and stroking her mother's hair in an attempt to soothe her, quietly and repeatedly murmuring that it was all going to be okay.

She'd felt similar pangs of guilt then too, like she was somehow responsible for her mother's miscarriage because she'd been less than thrilled about a new little Lopez joining their already full house. She'd _just_ gotten her own room and the last thing she wanted was another sibling infringing on her privacy.

Santana had never seen anything so horrible in her entire life and certainly never wanted to experience it again. That still doesn't stop her from literally begging God for a miscarriage. It's the first time she has prayed, _really_ prayed, in years and she can't help but think that it makes her the worst person in the whole entire world.

"Please," she begs, palms pressed together and eyes squeezed shut, tears staining her face, "I cannot have this baby." She's still not certain _what_ say God has in it all but she thinks He must be a pretty rotten God if He actually goes around taking people's babies from them. She is sure miscarriages have everything to do with biology and nothing to do with divine intervention but she figures it can't hurt to ask.

The completely irrational part of her brain thinks that if she had enough power back then to wish away a baby that was so desperately wanted, surely she can wish away _this_ baby who is wanted by no one. She pleads, she bargains, she even promises to go to church every week and stop engaging in her sinful behavior if she can just wake up and _not _be pregnant, if the baby can slip from her life now while it is still tiny and insignificant, before it has a chance to change everything.

"I'm so sorry," Santana whispers, looking down and tentatively bringing her hand to rest on her lower abdomen.

* * *

Santana loves game night. Correction, she _loved_ game night. She loved the adrenaline rush, the way the cool autumn air of the Ohio night felt as it filled her lungs, the knowledge that all eyes were on her, and the feeling that came with being really, truly _good_ at something. Now Friday night games are just another painful reminder of just how different her life has become. The joy she once got from cheerleading is just another thing that _he _took away from her.

When she is standing next to Brittany on the track in front of the crowded bleachers wearing a smile so wide that her cheeks actually hurt, the feeling of exhilaration that used to fizz inside her is replaced by suffocating anxiety. Santana feels like she's lying to hundreds of people and it is overwhelming and absolutely exhausting. Everyone is staring at her and she is terrified that it will only be a matter of time before someone notices that her body no longer wants cooperate with her when she tumbles or that she excuses herself to use the restroom every fifteen minutes and her charade will be up.

It's halftime on a typical Friday night and Santana's walking back up the track from her fourth bathroom break of the game. She is so busy trying to think of an excuse for constantly having to pee, other than the 15 week fetus pushing on her bladder, while also trying to come up with the best reason Coach Sylvester should not take away her water bottle privileges that she barely notices Brittany waving her over to the fence that separates the spectators from the field.

"Hey, San, get over here!" Brittany's standing at the fence talking to Quinn and Rachel and she is so excited she's practically vibrating. As Santana gets closer she notices that Brittany is holding a baby and immediately wishes the universe would just stop fucking with her already. "Look who came to the game," she coos, lifting her right elbow into the air to provide Santana a better view of the baby.

"Who's the kid?" Santana asks, even though the baby is the spitting image of Quinn, with a little bit of Puck mixed in.

"Can't you tell? It's Drizzle!" Brittany replies, lightly bouncing the baby in her arms.

"Her name is Beth," Quinn corrects her firmly.

Brittany shrugs nonchalantly, waving her pom-pom in front of Beth's face like a rattle. "Ms. Corcoran brought her to the game tonight so she could watch Puck play. Isn't she precious?"

Even Santana can't deny that Beth is pretty fucking adorable, all decked out in a tiny McKinley High shirt with a matching red bow clipped in her wisps of blonde hair. She'd rather die than admit it though.

"She's getting drool all over that," Santana replies with a disgusted curl of her lip as she watches Beth gum at the red and white plastic of Brittany's pom-pom.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Brittany beams. "She likes it!"

"That's hardly sanitary, Brittany," Rachel chides, reaching over the fence and pulling the pom-pom from Beth grasp before replacing it with a set of brightly colored plastic keys.

"What are you doing here anyways?" Santana snarls, glaring at Rachel for daring to scold Brittany. "You hate football."

"I don't hate football," Rachel answers quickly, completely unfazed by Santana's icy attitude. "The sport is admittedly a little barbaric and lacks the sophisticated culture of a night at the theater, but it's an all American pastime and I thought it was important to come out and support our school…"

"Cut the crap, Berry," Santana interrupts her mid-sentence.

Rachel nods curtly. "I'm dating Finn now and I feel it is part of my responsibility as a good girlfriend to watch him play."

Santana smirks, "Good enough for me."

"Besides, Beth is practically my little sister and I like to see her whenever the opportunity arises." Rachel explains, reaching out and allowing the baby to grasp her finger.

Santana cocks one eyebrow up and looks at Quinn who simply shrugs in reply.

"Do you want to hold her?" Brittany asks, bringing the baby up to her shoulder and preparing to pass her to Santana. It immediately strikes Santana just how sure Brittany is with the baby, like she was _made_ to hold her. She is a total natural and it makes Santana's heart ache. "She smells really nice, like a baby." She continues, pressing her nose to the top of Beth's head and inhaling deeply.

Santana shakes her head and holds up her hands defensively, "No."

Quinn laughs softly and shakes her head. "She's a baby, S, not a bomb."

"Yeah, come on, San," Brittany pleads. "She is super sweet."

"I said no," Santana snaps and then feels instantly guilty when Brittany frowns and recoils. "Look, you're right, she is really cute. I just don't want Quinn's spawn to get spit-up all over my uniform or something, okay?"

Brittany nods hesitantly and the four girls stand in awkward silence for a minute before being interrupted by a sharp cry from Beth.

"That's her hungry cry," Quinn offers incredibly quickly for someone who is not technically Beth's mother.

"You're right, she gets pitchy when she's hungry," Rachel agrees. "Come on Brittany, let's go get her bottle. You can feed her if you'd like."

"I can?" Brittany asks happily and Rachel nods.

"Britt, what about the game?" Santana calls after her, but she has already walked off the track and followed Rachel into the stands. She turns her attention to Quinn who is still standing with her arms draped over the fence. "Aren't you going to go with them?"

Quinn shrugs, "It's alright. Shelby let me feed her before we came."

"Is that even legal?" Santana only means to think it, but somehow her mouth does not get the message.

"What do you mean?" Quinn asks, furrowing her brow.

Santana sighs. She sucks at the whole 'sensitive conversation' thing. "I just mean with the adoption and everything…"

"Oh," Quinn nods, "yeah, of course. We opted for an open adoption which means Shelby works with us so that we can see Beth when we want to."

"That's nice," she tells her. It's not until the words are out of her mouth that she realizes she actually means it. Quinn smiles softly before letting her eyes drift back to the football field. Santana stands there quietly watching Quinn as she stares at the field, her eyes fixated on the football players crowded around the water jug. "Do you miss it?"

Quinn blinks, turning her attention towards Santana. "Miss what?"

"This," Santana indicates the field behind her.

"That?" Quinn retorts, pointing at Sue Sylvester who was busy barking insults through her megaphone at some poor Cheerio vomiting on the sidelines. She had clearly not gotten the memo that eating before a big game was not the best idea. "No, not at all."

Santana looks at her curiously. Cheerleading had meant _everything_ to Quinn just one short year ago. She can't help but wonder if having a baby somehow makes everything else in life seem suddenly insignificant. "Not even a little?"

Quinn shakes her head, "I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'm happier with my life right now than I have ever been before."

"Good," Santana smiles genuinely, "I'm really glad for you, Q. Especially since it means I don't have to compete with you for head cheerleader anymore."

Quinn rolls her eyes and pushes Santana's shoulder lightheartedly. "You'd better live up to your duty as head cheerleader and go find Brittany before Ms. Sylvester notices she is missing and buries you both alive in her backyard."

Santana sighs, "Any chance you want to help me pry her away from the baby?"

"Nope," Quinn giggles, "you're head Cheerio now, remember?"

"Bitch," Santana scowls, but then winks playfully.

Quinn sticks out her tongue before smiling widely. "Some things never change."

Santana quickly finds Brittany and somehow manages to drag her away from Beth and back onto the track, planting her firmly in her assigned spot and handing her the still slobbery pom-poms.

She takes extra precaution during the second half of the game not to look up at the spot in the stands where she knows Quinn is sitting because she doesn't want to see her, see the baby, and be reminded of her own situation. Santana turns herself almost inward, concentrating extra hard on the words and motions and steps of the cheers, trying desperately to lose herself in the sport she once loved just one more time.

When McKinley miraculously scores a touchdown against the admittedly equally pathetic opposing team with only 30 seconds left in the game, Santana actually finds herself swept up in the excitement of it all. Then the buzzer sounds and the scoreboard reads six-zero and Santana squeals, throwing herself into Brittany's open arms. All she can hear is the crowd roaring, her friend's excited laughter, and the whirl of air rushing past her ears as Brittany spins her around in circles.

In that moment, she closes her eyes and finds herself. She is the old Santana who loves cheerleading and the dark and making out with random boys at parties. Who doesn't have to worry about OB appointments, half-truths, blatant lies, or if the two Tylenols she took before the game for her sore back will cause her baby to grow an extra head. She is just sixteen again and she is free.

Santana is jolted back to reality the minute Brittany stops twirling and her feet hit the ground. She lifts her head from the blonde's shoulder but keeps her arms firmly encircled around her neck for support. Her world is spinning and her still sensitive stomach is twisting, protesting all the sudden movement violently. She is the new Santana, constantly treading water to keep herself afloat in her deep sea of lies.

"You're sort of green, San," Brittany remarks softly, the smile fading from her face.

Santana nods, swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat. "Dizzy."

"Oops, sorry," Brittany plants a kiss right in the middle of her forehead before pulling Santana flush against her, standing perfectly still and giving her body a chance to catch up with the world around her.

She takes a few deep breaths of the crisp night air. "I think I'm good now."

Brittany sighs in relief. "I'm sorry. I won't spin so fast next time."

Santana aches to tell her that it's not her fault, that it is the stupid hormones coursing through her body and that Brittany can spin her as fast as she wants. She wants to thank her for helping her forget, even for a brief moment. She can't though and it physically hurts her. "That's probably a good idea. You know, not everyone can eat two bags of cotton candy and then ride the Tilt-A-Whirl four times in a row without puking like you can."

"That's true," Brittany giggles at the memory of their previous adventures at the county fair.

"Come on, B," Santana says, threading her fingers through Brittany's and walking onto the field with her, towards a celebratory huddle of football players and cheerleaders. "Let's go enjoy our win. It's not like it happens all that often or, ever really."

Brittany immediately spots Mike and runs directly into the center of the large crowd, flinging her arms around his neck and screaming in delight as he lifts her off the ground, her feet dangling below her.

Santana hangs back a little, scanning the crowded mass of bodies for Puck. She wants to congratulate him, and maybe tease him a little (okay, a lot) about the fact that Beth actually got to see her 'old man' win one of his football games. It takes her a minute but she finally spots him at the edge of the field, standing with Ms. Corcoran and Quinn. He already stripped out of his padding and jersey down to a white t-shirt and he's got Beth cradled in his arms like she's a football. Santana sees Quinn laugh and watches as she corrects his hold on the baby before standing on her tiptoes and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. They're not dating, or if they are Quinn hasn't told her, but she knows there is an unspeakable bond between them because they've been through something together than no one else will ever understand.

She quickly turns away from them to search for Brittany in the mess of red and white, mainly because she feels like she's intruding on the strange little family they've created for themselves but also because she recognizes an intense jealousy building deep inside her and she hates it. She is jealous. Of Quinn Fabray, ex-head Cheerio, fallen Queen Bee, perfect little Christian who got knocked up by a Jewish juvenile delinquent who wasn't even her boyfriend. The girl who, just one short year ago, she wouldn't have traded places with for a million dollars. Her life is _so _fucking pathetic that she is actually jealous of her friend even after having watched her lose almost everything.

Santana pushes all thoughts of pregnancy and babies and just how much her life sucks to the back of her mind before wandering off to look for Brittany. Denial and avoidance may not be healthy coping mechanisms, but they're what she needs right now and the only way she's going to survive.

She finds Brittany having an impromptu dance-off with Mike on the track, Finn and Rachel acting as their only audience. She joins them, watching as Brittany proudly shows off a new move she made up on her own. Santana leans back against the fence, wrapping her arms around her knees to stay warm.

"Now you try." Brittany tells Finn before joining her against the fence, curling right up next to her and resting her head on Santana's shoulder.

Even Santana can't help but laugh at Finn's pathetic attempts at Brittany's dance move and the barrage of thinly veiled criticisms from Rachel that follow. She's laughing so hard at just how uncoordinated and clumsy he is that her chest heaves and she _almost _forgets just how miserable she is.

Almost, but then the excitement begins to die down and everyone realizes just how much the temperature has dropped and people start to trickle into the parking lot. Brittany runs ahead to warm up the car while Santana goes to pee (again). She makes it almost all the way to her car before she sees Quinn and the reality of her situation hits her again. She watches as Quinn climbs into the back of Shelby's SVU and leans over Beth's car seat, presumably to kiss her goodbye.

"Bye, baby," she waves, sliding off the backseat and closing the door. "Bye, Shelby," Quinn continues, wrapping her arms around the older woman. "Thanks again for bringing her."

"Of course, honey. I'll see you next time, okay?" Shelby says, making her way to the driver's side of her car and getting in.

Quinn blows a kiss in the direction of the car and then stands watching, still waving even long after Shelby's tail lights disappear into the night.

Santana seriously considers walking to her car and leaving Quinn alone. She has her own problems to deal with but Quinn has no one and she seems _so_ sad. Besides, Santana is still trying to make up for that whole calling her Tubbers thing last year.

"Hey," she starts cautiously, stepping up so she's standing beside her. "You okay?"

Quinn nods. Santana looks at her face to try to get a read on her mood but all she gets is a blank stare.

Santana catches her lip between her teeth. She's not quite sure how to talk to Quinn, not about this. "It must suck, always having to say goodbye to her."

Quinn shrugs, turning to face her. "It's better than not seeing her at all."

Santana nods. "Do you ever regret it?" The words slip from her lips and she immediately wishes they hadn't. She might as well have just shoved her positive pregnancy test right in Quinn's face.

"No," Quinn answers straightaway. "I miss her a lot, way more than I ever thought I would, but I've never regretted my decision." She quirks an eyebrow at Santana, "What is with your sudden interest in Beth? You barely acknowledged I was pregnant last year. I'm pretty sure you sat next to me on the bus filing you nails while I was writhing in pain from contractions."

_Fuck, she's suspicious._ "I don't know," Santana shrugs defensively. "I was pissed at you last year. We're friends again now and I want to know more about your life, okay?"

"Okay," Quinn agrees, her tone softening. "It is really hard sometimes. I never expected to love her so much, you know?" It's a rhetorical question, but Santana nods anyway. "But I know that because of the decision I made Beth is going to have everything wonderful that life has to offer. I got to give that gift to her."

Santana looks at Quinn and swallows hard. She had traveled almost exactly the same road as her the year before and come out of everything okay, come out _better._ Santana's got this incredible source of experience and support standing two feet in front of her and she can't even ask her for help. It takes every bit of strength she has not to take both of Quinn's hands in her own and tell her everything right then and there in the middle of the empty parking lot. Her need for her friend's advice and guidance is so desperate that telling her everything almost seems worth it. Quinn would help. She would know what to do.

"S?" She nudges her and Santana throws her arms around Quinn's body just to keep herself from talking.

Quinn stiffens a little in surprise before relaxing into the hug. Santana is not normally a hugger unless she is drunk or you are Brittany.

"I…" Santana starts, talking to the empty night air over Quinn's shoulder. The words play out in her head in a weird sort of script. _Dave Karofsky raped me. I'm pregnant and I'm not having an abortion. I need your help. I need you. Please don't tell anyone. _It all seems pretty easy until she gets to the last part. _Please don't tell anyone._ Quinn would tell, she was too smart _not_ to. She feels Quinn's hand run up the length of her spine and decides she has to say something. "I'm sorry I called Beth your spawn."

Quinn's breath tickles her ear as she lets out an airy laugh. "Is that all you wanted to tell me? Seriously, San, I'd be worried about you if you _hadn't _called her that."

Santana nods against Quinn's shoulder, not letting go of her because she can feel a wetness building in the corner of her eyes and she can't let Quinn see her cry.

"If that's all," Quinn says, pulling back from Santana, "I really need to get going. It's freezing out here and I have to be home before curfew."

"Yeah," Santana breathes, "sorry. I should probably go too. Brittany's waiting for me in the car."

"I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Yep," she agrees before quickly turning her back towards Quinn as the tears she was holding back start to fall. She only allows herself to cry for the amount of time it takes for her to walk to her car. She takes a few deep breathes, wipes at her cheeks with the sleeve of her Cheerios sweatshirt, and opens the door.

"Hi!" Brittany greets her cheerfully.

"Hey, Britt, sorry it took me so long." Santana says, leaning over from the driver's seat to kiss her cheek.

"That's okay, your radio has a lot of stations," she replies, smiling at her. Her smile quickly fades to a frown when she notices Santana's red rimmed eyes. "Have you been crying?"

"No," Santana busies herself with turning the key in the ignition, "of course not."

"San," Brittany says softly, reaching over and putting her hand on top of Santana's when she goes to shift the car into reverse. "What's wrong?"

Santana shakes her head. She's so fucking tired of lying. "Let's just go get some dinner, okay?"

* * *

**A/N: Huge appologizes for taking so long with this update. I had a family emergency and life just kind of got in the way. I will update much more frequently from now on. I do hope that you enjoyed this! Please leave a review and let me know what you think.**


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